To Watch the Faraway Stars
by Whistle
Summary: There aren't many things Heimdall cannot see. Loki is sometimes one of them. [Post-Ragnarok]


It's not the crowd that bothers him.

The inconvenient thing about cargo ships, the surviving Asgardians are quickly discovering, is that they're not built to accommodate an entire kingdom worth of people. It's not as bad as it could be—their number isn't nearly enough to fill the ship to its maximum capacity, and there are very few silver linings to be found in that—but it's far from the luxury that they had once enjoyed. And there is no secluded observatory for Heimdall to retreat to.

The Ark is teeming with people, but Heimdall has seen far more crowded places. The markets of Knowhere, the harvest festival on Alfheim, the planet-wide auctions of Grendin Prime. But the crowds he's watched have never watched him back before. Whenever he walks the halls now he's stopped by reverent bows, tearful thanks, hugs from starstruck children. It warms his heart, of course, but the weight of their gratitude is sometimes hard to bear, when before few Asgardians had anything to say to him that wasn't the name of a destination or a request to be picked up from a distant land.

Most have been avoiding the navigation room of late, convinced that Heimdall must be performing delicate operations to keep the Ark on course and must not be disturbed. Thor has had a hand in furthering this impression, and Heimdall is grateful to his king for it.

"Don't worry about it," says Thor. "I think everyone's going a little mad, cooped up like this. I'm surprised my brother hasn't stabbed anyone yet." He thinks for a moment, then adds, "Except for me, that is."

"Do you think he will?"

"No. Not really. It's just—" Thor cuts himself off quickly, and Heimdall doesn't need his sight to see the worry weighing on his king's brow. Thor has always worn his emotions on his sleeve. He has changed much, over these past few years, but this has remained.

Heimdall puts a hand on Thor's shoulder, and Thor smiles at him. "Sometimes I wonder which is harder, being Asgard's king or being Loki's brother." He shakes his head. "Just... just keep an eye on him. I think you're the only one who can."

Thor's confidence is perhaps unfounded, but his worries are too many already, and Heimdall has his own reasons for doing as his king asks. So he simply says, "I will."

"Thank you, my friend. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd have a much harder time finding your helmet when you misplace it right before a ceremony."

Thor laughs. "You know perfectly well that that was Loki's fault." He claps Heimdall heartily on the shoulder. "I think I've burdened you with enough of my troubles. I'll leave you do whatever it is you do on your watch."

And so Heimdall watches, for days and nights on end. It has been a long time since he's needed to sleep.

He draws his gaze across the corridors of the Ark. He has never walked through most of them; he knows them well regardless. There aren't many people awake, at this hour, but there are some. An old man tries to comfort the crying child in his lap, humming a soft lullaby rarely heard since the reign of King Bor. Neither of them knew the other before coming here. Neither has any family left. A man turns an apple over and over in his hands. It's the only one left from the palace gardens, and he stares at it with hollow eyes. Two young women sneak into the recreation room, holding hands and smiling softly at each other. Heimdall gives them their privacy. Two children steal away from their quarters to play fight in the maintenance halls, making enthusiastic but rather unrealistic thunder noises with their mouths.

Farther out, the emptiness of space stretches all around them, cold and unwelcoming.

And farther out still: the ruins of an ancient civilization on a desert planet whose name has long been forgotten. Dust blows through the empty hallways, and the winding spirals carved upon their translucent walls tell the myths of slumbering gods. A rogue star travels through the void between the spiral arms of the galaxy. An abandoned space station circles its lone planet; ancient warning symbols flicker in the darkness of its corridors, unheeded. A planet orbits close to a blue giant in the Draconis system. It shimmers iridescent in the light of its home sun, ablaze with all the colors of the rainbow. No one has ever set eyes on it save for Heimdall.

It's a surprise when the door to the navigation room slides open, so Heimdall immediately knows who it must be. There are very few people in the universe who can manage to sneak up on him.

Loki wanders into the room with a sour look on his face and gives Heimdall a sharp glance as if he hadn't expected to see him.

"Figures you'd be here," mutters Loki beneath his breath.

"How surprising it must be to find me in the same place I've been for the past week."

Loki turns to face him. His eyes rake him, sharp and piercing; Heimdall submits to the scrutiny impassively and wonders what the prince finds in him. Loki may not have Heimdall's sight, but he has always been skilled at seeing things no one else does. Some of them might even exist outside his head.

"I think I liked you better when you didn't have a sense of humor," Loki concludes.

It's a compliment, or at least Heimdall decides to take it as one. The things that Loki likes and the things that are good for him and everyone around him are more often than not mutually exclusive categories. But Loki has more thorns than a blackberry bush and Heimdall is not looking for a fight, so he keeps this thought to himself. Instead he watches Loki slump into the captain's chair, materialize a knife in his hand, and start flipping it over and over, deliberately not looking in Heimdall's direction. Heimdall can see a slight tremor in his fingers. A little hitch in his carefully controlled breaths.

It's a strange thing, sometimes, to look at what's right in front of him. To think that he could reach out and touch his prince, find him real and solid beneath his fingertips.

"You're having trouble sleeping," he says.

"I am not. I was sleeping perfectly well until Thor decided, completely unprompted, to kick me out of bed."

"Did you happen to stab him, right before he decided to do this?"

Loki waves a hand, airily. "I don't see what that has to do with anything. And besides, he was hogging all the covers. Clearly he deserved it."

"Clearly," Heimdall says, and doesn't bother to hide the smile in his voice.

"If you're about to launch into some sickeningly cute story about how we used to share a bed when we were children," snaps Loki, "you can kindly keep it to yourself."

Heimdall graciously does so, though he's sure that the sickening cuteness of the tale of little Loki stabbing little Thor for kicking in his sleep is implied in the silence that follows. The Queen would tell the story with a bright smile on her face while her red-faced sons tried to shush her. Truly, nothing has changed since those days. Except, of course, for the fact that the royal family lies in ruins and Asgard is no longer the shining golden realm at the center of the universe but a group of bedraggled refugees huddling together in a Sakaaran cargo ship with so little living space that the king is forced to share quarters with his mad brother.

Heimdall is glad he doesn't sleep, sometimes. He doesn't know what his dreams would be if he did.

"Honestly," Loki says, suddenly, because he's never known how to leave a silence be. "It's the third time this week Thor's kicked me out of our room. He's been irritable, of late. I don't know what's got into him." His voice is carefully devoid of any hint of worry.

"The crown is a heavy burden to bear when the kingdom struggles. Perhaps you should try to talk to him about it."

"I have tried to talk to him about it, thank you very much. It usually ends with him yelling at me. Or hugging me, which is really just embarrassing for the both of us. He never used to be this clingy."

"He's worried that you're going to leave."

He doesn't miss the way Loki's fingers twitch minutely around the hilt of his knife, but he pretends to.

"Yes, well. He's grown wiser. I suppose it had to happen, sooner or later."

"Will you?"

"Oh, probably."

Heimdall is surprised by the steadiness of Loki's voice, but it's the deliberate unconcern that gives him away. So he doesn't reply. He simply lets the silence stretch out in the knowledge that it won't be long until Loki's restless mind decides to fill it.

He's not disappointed. "It's really for the best," Loki says, after a minute. "I'm sure you'll agree. Who knows what I'll end up doing to Asgard's last king if I stay, after all?"

"You don't want to hurt him. Not anymore." There aren't many things Heimdall is sure of, when it comes to Loki, but this is one of them. He sees it in the way Loki's head snaps up at the accusation, in the way he casts his eyes about the room like a man in a cage.

"No," he says, eventually. "I don't. But I don't know what I'll want tomorrow."

Though the words are casual, Heimdall can feel the weight of them. It's the most self-awareness Loki has shown in quite some time, and for a few seconds Heimdall wants to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, to grab him and shake him until the turmoil and the spite and the self-pity have fallen out of his head.

"Honestly," continues Loki, "I don't know why you're arguing against this. Surely you can't wait to see me gone."

"No, as a matter of fact."

"No? I turned you into an icicle, as I recall. That seems like the sort of thing one would hold a grudge over. And had you accused of treason too, let's not forget."

"It was not inaccurate," Heimdall magnanimously concedes. "And it was nice to have a vacation, for once. I went hiking."

"Hm. And you didn't hesitate to wage war against my sister, yet made no move against me."

"It is my duty to act when I believe Asgard to be in danger of more than bad taste in theater."

Loki barks out a harsh laugh. "So forgiving, you and Thor. You'd better hope it doesn't come back to bite you."

He's wrong, of course. Forgiveness isn't quite so simple. It's interesting, though, that it would bother him, after seeking it for so long. But Loki has never been content with getting what he wants.

"I do. But I wouldn't lose much sleep over it, if I slept."

"Oh? Do you watch over me, to ensure that I'm not up to anything?"

"You know as well as I do that you've taken to shrouding yourself from my sight once more."

"So, you've looked." Loki seems smugly pleased by this. "Does it bother you?"

"No."

Loki rises to his feet and strides forward until he stands before Heimdall. There is a fire burning inside him; there has been for a while. Heimdall can see it shining in his eyes, but he cannot quite tell what it is.

"Maybe it should," Loki says, his voice a low whisper.

It's not a threat, though it pretends to be. It's a challenge. It might even be a plea, or perhaps that is only what Heimdall wishes to see. The knife is gone from Loki's hand.

"I'll stop you," Heimdall says, "if you ever try to hurt Thor again."

It's the only reassurance he can think to give. Loki's eyes widen at it. Then his mouth twists, but the edge of his smile is blunt.

"Of course. Your loyalty has always been to him."

"My loyalty has always been to Asgard, and to those who choose to stand with it. To those who came back."

"Has it," murmurs Loki, watching Heimdall almost transfixed. "And do you think that loyalty is what I want from you?"

"I think it is part of it. But not all."

No, what Loki wants is nothing quite so simple as that. It has always been in his nature to want inconvenient things, and it has always been difficult to match his desires to his actions, like pieces of a puzzle that Heimdall cannot fully see.

"Oh? And what is it you think I want, then?"

"To be seen. But not, I think, for it to be easy."

Loki considers this, inclining his head. Then his gaze finds Heimdall's again. "And you, Watcher of the Bifrost? Always seeing others. What do _you_ want?"

The question catches him off guard. It is not one he has often heard. Thor might be the only one left alive to ever have asked him. And, now, his brother.

It's almost impossible to take Heimdall by surprise, but Loki has always been an exception to many things.

He stands before Heimdall now, the challenge shining in his eyes. The one man on the Ark Heimdall cannot see with his sight—perhaps one of the few in the galaxy—and he's there, close enough for Heimdall to reach out and touch. And, so, Heimdall looks. There isn't much left of the curious, bright-eyed young man who would ask him endless questions and try his best to distract him from his post. But there isn't much left of the wraith who'd haunted the dungeons of Asgard, cursing and rambling and pleading to Heimdall when no one else was there to listen, either. There is something in him that has changed him and keeps changing him and Heimdall cannot quite see it, only feel its jagged edges. Loki has seen things that Heimdall cannot, sometime during his fall, and that is a rare thing.

Heimdall, of course, has always wanted nothing but the good of Asgard. But now that Asgard too has been reborn from its ruins there doesn't seem to be much use in clinging to old customs.

So he allows himself to be selfish: he leans forward and presses his mouth to Loki's, gently.

It's quick, and hardly all he wants, but there's the pressure, and the solidity, and the way Loki tenses at first then leans into the kiss with a soft shiver.

When Heimdall steps back, Loki's eyes are bright. He runs his fingers across his lip and considers Heimdall carefully. He seems startled, but not off balance. It's a good look on him.

"I don't think I will ever understand you," Loki says, finally.

"Or I you."

It's a concession, and perhaps it should not excite him as much as it does.

Loki seems to relax. "So there is something you can't do. I'd been wondering."

"There is plenty that I can't do," Heimdall replies, deadpan. "Play cards with you and the other Revengers, for one. I've been banned."

"You know _exactly_ why you've been banned."

"Yet you and the Valkyrie are still allowed to play."

"Life is unfair." Loki looks him over, a smile flickering over his sharp features. "Maybe I'll invite you, next time. If you promise to tell me Thor's cards, of course."

"I would not be opposed to it. It's good for a king to be taken down a peg or two, once in a while."

That draws a laugh from Loki. Heimdall feels the warmth of it in his chest.

There are many things Heimdall wants. To see Asgard prosper once more, free of its old shadows. To see Thor grow into the wise one-eyed king his father never was. To show someone the little rainbow world of the Draconis system that no one else has ever seen.

He's not quite sure what exactly it is he wants of Loki. He thinks he could stand to be surprised.

"You should sleep, Highness. The hour is late, and I'm sure Thor has already forgiven you for stabbing him. Again."

"The soft-hearted fool." The corner of Loki's mouth twitches, despite the hitch in his voice. "I suppose I should. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Will you?"

That stops Loki in his tracks. He opens his mouth, closes it again, then schools his features into careful indifference. "Leaving would be the wisest thing to do, of course. But I've never made a wise decision in my life and I don't imagine I'll start tomorrow. Besides, I've heard talk of staging a play to commemorate recent events and I'd hate to think how they'd do without my guidance."

Heimdall allows himself a small smile. "I'm sure they'll be happy to hear it."

He's not quite so proud as to think he's changed the maelstrom that is Loki's mind. But he has managed to draw a piece of it from him, and that too is a victory.

He listens to Loki's steps until they fade into silence.

The Ark is quiet, at this time of night. All around them is the emptiness, cold, silent, and utterly still. Once he's alone again Heimdall lets his sight stretch out to the corners of the galaxy, its nooks and crannies, its lights and colors and patterns, looking for its secrets.


End file.
